


deeper is the storm of the heart

by Kugawing



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games), Rain World (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Embrace the Void Ending (Hollow Knight), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Minor characters are not tagged because the author finds that to be clickbait, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other characters aren't tagged, Post-Embrace the Void Ending (Hollow Knight), Rain World spoilers, Slugcat is Called Survivor, Slugcat-centric, Teenage Grimmchild, The Knight is Called Ghost (Hollow Knight), They/Them pronouns for Slugcat, grimm doesn't pay child support. make of that what you will, more characters will be added, mostly fluff!, no beta we die like quirrel, no ending in mind yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29134569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kugawing/pseuds/Kugawing
Summary: Ascension. It was supposed to be the escape from the constant cycles of death and rebirth. They had survived so many downpours of rain, starting with the first one that had washed them away from their family. The trials that they had overcome, the pain, it was supposed to end once they plunged deep into the earth as far as they could go. Reuniting with their family, their kin; was it too high of a hope?Animalistic desires unravel the ascension process. They had been told this, by a friend (was she a friend? Foreign the concept was to the small and puny mind of a slugcat), but they had ignored the warning and attempted to ascend nonetheless. Perhaps this was what she had meant, when she said the desire to ascend would drive anyone mad.This is not what they pictured failed ascension to be like. New faces, a new world to explore. Odd it may be, but the slugcat will prevail regardless.In which Hallownest has an odd face clambering up from the Ancient Basin.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

The instructions had been clear. West and down, west and down. The direction of west was up to interpretation, of course, when one was an animal who's brain had only recently been able to understand speech. Something had changed after they had floated around those machines for a long enough period of time. They ate neurons, munching them down because there was nothing else for them to eat in the machine. Unless they tried to eat some of the blue, cancerous goop that seeped from most of the walls. That was off limits, because they knew not whether it was actually food or if it was a predator that would eat them just as quickly. 

After those neurons were eaten, they had begun to see odd, golden orbs floating barely above the ground. More directions, even if they weren't the easiest to follow. West and down, as deep into the earth as they could go. Through the wastes of garbage, down past where the wormgrass grew something fierce. Through the dark of systems that no longer had purpose, and down, down they fell. The fall stung, and the slugcat was certain that they had lost a cycle due to the fall. It had killed them, once, they thought, as they pick up a gleaming gold flower and eat it.

Downward they continue. They can sense the rain approaching, but they feel a certain aspect of safety now. They are so far down that the rain hopefully wouldn't reach. If it did, well, they were certain they'd find another golden flower up further ahead to show that they would need to wait for a longer cycle.

The world melted as they descended further. Tinted in gold, as they began to approach where the void fluid pooled. They could not see their own paws anymore, but they began to swim and paddle deeper. Swimming down, down, down as deep as they could. If this was not where they had been instructed to go? They would have a long, long trip back up. The thought lingered in their mind as they swam down, further and further. As their mind began to fade, they felt something grab them. Tugging them along, slinging them around the void sea. They could not see, their eyes shut tight to brace for the ride.

Then, there was light. The slugcat began to swim upwards, towards the white light. Ascension, they finally would be freed from the cycles of life and death and rebirth. They would be free, they would no longer have to struggle. What was ascension like? What was the _point_? The quest bestowed on to them by blindly following was odd, but it was the only instructions that the slugcat had been given.

Those were questions that the slugcat could not answer. They paddled upwards, further and further. They had been told to go as deep as they could, but their lungs were screaming for air. They had never swam for this long before, and it felt wrong. An animal that had instincts could not simply ignore them, but the slugcat had in order to try and escape from them altogether.

_"But the basis is agreed upon: like sleep like death, you wake up again - whether you want to or not." The Survivor's ears twitch as they listen, leaning their head closer to the Iterator. She gently and slowly raises a hand, and begins to slowly pet the damp white fluff. They purr, the noise soft, a touch so similar to that of their family. They miss them dearly, but that desire is pushed away as more speech pushes into their mind. The Mark of Communication flickered and gleamed as it always does when they sit still, but it also performed the odd glow whenever they are listening to someone speak._

_Mostly, such was referred to hearing to the Iterator's speak. One was the reason for the Mark being given to them in the first place, and most of the other creatures never spoke to the Survivor. Or, perhaps, they too lacked the Mark of Communication, and cared not about things greater than struggling in the cycles between the downpours of rain."This is true for all living things, but some actually break the cycle. That doesn't apply to you or me though; you are too entangled in your animal struggles, and for me not breaking that cycle is an integral part of the design. Our mantras keep repeating."_

The Survivor's head breaks through the fluid of void. There is a bright white light beaming down on them, and black fluid is shed from their pearly white coat once the light reaches them. Paddling furiously, coughing, eyes shut tight. Shore, any shore, they seek. Swimming for too long through the shorelines had always exhausted them, but it had been a task they had self imposed upon themselves. To visit someone unable to move, to try and bring things from the far reaches of the world that they could travel to ease her grief. If it worked, they knew not.

Bumping into metal was briefly unexpected. They are used to metal, to rubbish. Small paws grip and heave their form from the ocean. Breathing heavily as chilly air fills their lungs. Black eyes open and gaze at the odd structure that loomed up above them. Underground, but the world was no longer tinged with golden void. Now it was dark, deep, and far colder. It stings their lungs to breathe, and they cough up some of the black goop they had inhaled. Reminded them of the odd creatures in the garbage wastes; but that was a sickly brown, and not a color so dark it seemed to be absent of any color at all.

If this was what life was like past the cycles of life and death and rebirth it was... lackluster. Were they to be alone? Were they the only one to have ascended in this way? Confusion flickers in their mind as their form begins to crawl along. Some investigation would need to be done, a solution found. The way that they had been instructed to dive down into the deep earth did not explain that they would be alone. It did not explain how their emergence of the void fluid led to something that felt similar yet was clearly different.

The Survivor worried that this was not an intended part of their ascension. They had seen echoes of those who had failed their ascensions, their transcendence above the cycles rendering them as stuck and unable to move on. Entangled in their worldly desires, and the worry settles further into chest.

At least, they think it is worry. They cough up more black gunk, and continue to crawl away from the ocean. Breathing slow, easing now that they no longer were experiencing a drowning sensation. Slick tail twitched as they came to rest, laying their head against cool metal; or stone. It had been long since they had felt pure stone, but it is a welcome sensation. Briefly resting, for they knew better than to allow their guard to be lowered. A few minutes was all they would need, before they would seek out the answers that battered their head like batflies.

While they had swam, their stomach had been emptied. Eating would be a priority; batflies would certainly fill them with ease if they found any. None had been seen since they had descended into the depths. Food of any kind seemed to have been cleansed from that environment. The Survivor kept their groan of frustration internal as they thought about the sheer amount of wall leaps they would have to do in order to climb all the way back up. If this was even the same place; if they had not somehow swam to the other side of the world, somehow.

The Mark of Communication glowed as they still. Breathing slowed, the slugcat's form relaxing after a lengthy swim. Faint whispering in the air is ignored in favor of rest, and the Survivor allows their eyes to slip shut. 


	2. Chapter 2

Their karma was still at a comfortable level of maximum when the Survivor ceased their rest. That meant that no threats had come to them, and their resting would have no consequences. Nice, since they were used to sleeping only in small shelter chambers that locked behind them. Briefly, the Survivor wondered how they breathed in those small chambers, and attributed it to being asleep.

The room is dark, which is to be expected. Other than the beaming white light overhead, there is hardly any light to be found. It reminds the slugcat of the filtration system that they recently had descended through, and how the dark yielded predators that made every step be made with bated breath. The scuffling of claws against metal, the huffing, the soft hissing of those blind lizards. If there was one thing that they hoped their transcendence would free them from, it would be those.

Once, they had tried to trade with the local scavengers. They had lanterns, glowing objects that made seeing predators in the all-encompassing dark easier. They had no pearls, nothing to trade with but a spear in their hand. When the spear had been set down, the scavenger traded it for another spear. It had warranted a disgruntled huff, but it was far better than having walked away from the trade with nothing.

As the Survivor rose to a stand, the ears twitched. Definitely metal underneath their paws, which they tapped against a few times. Without anything in their hands they felt vulnerable, and they knew that having no defense from predators was almost worse than napping in the open. How stupid a decision that had been in hindsight, but the Survivor had been too exhausted to fight it for long.

Cautiously they begin to stalk forward, away from the void fluid. The chilly air bites their thin fluff, but when they begin to move it bothers them less. A brief climb, with ledges that the slugcat is barely able to reach and clamber along. They leap over gaps and small puddles of more void fluid, deciding that they had more than enough swimming for the time being.

Their mind grew absent as they moved along. The path was rather linear from what they were used to. Trying to find tunnels in the metal was left with them bumping their face against cold metal. Less than pleasant, earning a twitch of their tail. Continuing to claw their way along, leaping and climbing and being somewhat grateful for the trek requiring less strength. Still exhausted from the swim, from their empty belly; a steep climb would probably cause them to lose a cycle from a misstep or an exhausted jump.

Paw meets something sharp, and it warranted the slugcat to stop. They no longer were stepping on smooth, but more rough and jagged. It reminded the slugcat of the more destroyed regions of their home. Sharp objects were never pleasant to land on, but they had walked through worse terrain before. The surrounding area is foggy; that is the best that the Survivor can describe it with. More steps follow, stepping and crunching on weird objects that the slugcat could not name. None of the shapes were identical, but all of them were cracked, broken, dusty; lost to time.

There is a whispering in the air, and a cold touch is felt on their back. Anticipating an unseen scavenger, or the long tongue of a lizard, the slugcat whirled quickly on their feet. What they see is not lizard, or scavenger, or anything that they had ever seen before. There is a head that is as pale as a glistening pearl, but in a style that strikes the Survivor as being similar to that of a vulture. Bone-like, with gaping holes for sight. The same as that on the ground, too, if the slugcat would permit their thoughts to go further. A hand, a nub, just as dark as the void that the slugcat had emerged from, 

No pain helped the slugcat understand that perhaps this creature was like a scavenger; not a friend, but not a foe either. They lower their body regardless, as they did around the scavengers. The unspoken display that the Survivor had found in order to convey that they are no threat, that they are not out to cause harm. The Survivor does not understand why that it an unspoken 'I mean you no harm' meaning, when the lizards and vultures and centipedes all walk on their lower legs in a manner so similar. How it showed the scavengers they were peaceful was something that was beyond the Survivor's ability to understand.

The cloak that the scavenger like creature wears briefly ruffled, and the hand that briefly had touched the slugcat retreats underneath. It reminds the Survivor of the Iterator that had gifted the Mark of Communication to them. As they remain still and lowered to the ground, the familiar glow of the Mark flickered to life.

Recoiling back from the scavenger was not expected. The slugcat winced, their form stiffening. That sort of reaction wasn't normal amongst scavengers; they truly must be in an entirely new world if even the scavengers would recoil away from something that time and time again had no bearing on how they behaved. The air itself seemed to recoil back, the dense fog in the air briefly lifting and making momentarily a feeling of warmth. 

There's a gleaming... pole? On this scavenger's back. They only see it when they turn to a more defensive position, head tipped to stare at the Mark of Communication. As if it were a threat; it reminds the Survivor of how the scavengers would attack the Overseers. Sometimes the strikes of the scavengers would leave the Overseers’ eye behind, and the Survivor would find themself plucking them from the rubble and fiddling with them as they sat in shelters while waiting for rain.

The Survivor stands up, and the Mark of Communication disappears. The dark swoops back in, comfortably reclaiming the air that the Mark had disturbed. The slugcat is barely taller than the odd scavenger when they raise to their full height. With their hands empty, they are no threat. 

The scavenger seems to realize this as their defensive position melts away into a more neutral stance. The slugcat can understand the motions of the body easier than words; their family had used the twining and motions of limbs instead of speech with only chuffs and purrs being used when one happened to be out of sight. A gesture is made for the slugcat to follow after the scavenger, the motion comparable to that of how the Survivor would be waved through a roll after tossing a pearl through. 

Lead away from the void fluid, the ground continues to remain sharp and jagged. Now that the Survivor is paying more attention, the build of the ground is comparable to that of the face of the scavenger they follow. The cloak billows as they dash along, and the slugcat hopped and curled into a roll in order to keep up. 

Giant is the chasm that the two enter, and the slugcat gases upwards. The gas that hangs in the air and makes it hard to breathe is just as prevalent, but the slugcat is growing used to it. Jagged spikes that seem to be made of metal line the lower walls, and platforms are built from the sides of the chasm. The stone walls seem to turn to metal as the walls ascend upwards, but it is hard to see from where the Survivor stands. 

Brilliant white wings extend from the scavenger’s cloak. It reminds the Survivor briefly not of vultures, but of the noodleflies and their young that would flutter in the air out of reach. With those wings the other launched upwards to one or the platforms, and gestured for the slugcat to follow. 

Maneuvering without a spear to help them or rocks for momentum was a hard task. Accidentally throwing a rock or a spear at the scavenger most certainly would wind up with that off-white spear they had being thrown or jabbed their way. A backflip, a leap, and the Survivor has enough height to roll along the sharp ground and grab the edge of the platform. The slugcat clambered up, feeling their skin ache from rolling on the sharp ground. Negligible it is; the Survivor persisted through worse in the past and would continue to do so in the present. 

As they follow the scavenger, the Survivor is made aware that there is a scuttling noise somewhere above them. Persistent and growing louder as they climb. The scavenger seems to know the path up, and so the slugcat follows as closely as they can. A winged scavenger was odd, but it was easily pushed aside. If scavengers could make their spears explode the guts of their enemies, surely they could fashion wings akin to those of the noodleflies? It wasn't a hard thought to settle with.

The leaps are exhausting on an empty stomach, and briefly the slugcat is claimed by lightheadedness. Stumbling into a crouch, breathing heavy. While they still, they decide to heave up what remained in their stomach. Out came a pearl, which warranted a slow blink. Not food, and it is shoveled back down. The scavenger, surprisingly, did not seem to notice and instead busied themself with leaping up another platform. When the Survivor's breath returned, they continued to follow.

It was just as hefty a climb upward as the Survivor had anticipated. They had expected far more wall jumps to be involved, but currently in their exhausted state they would not complain about such at all. The lack of poles, too, was odd. These thoughts are brought to a halt as the scavenger swung the spear that had previously rested on their back. An oddly shelled creature that the Survivor could not even make an assumption about was slain with a slash of the weapon. The spear was returned to it's resting position just as quickly.

The Survivor cannot waste this opportunity. While the scavenger moves away to continue ascending, the slugcat launched forward. Paws grab and tore through the open wound, and the flesh within was inhaled with vigor. It tasted vaguely of insect, but also of the dense air in a solidified form. Smokey, chilly, but not enough to make a starving creature stagger. Another bite, and they exhale slowly as their belly feels rather full. Enough to no longer be starving, which was nice.

Upwards the two continue, until they reach a clean metal platform. Smooth metal that the Survivor could only recall seeing around the land of Five Pebbles and the metal tubes that they would press through. Odd it was, the smoothness of metal that was not broken up by rubbish that was torn apart by fierce rains. No longer hungry, and with the scavenger briefly pausing, they allow that thought to persist.

The ground is dry, which is unfamiliar. The air is now clearer than it had been in the bottom of the chasm. They can see clearly a gleaming white piece of stone that the Survivor feels tug at the Mark of Communication. Slowly they move forward and still themself before the object. Words are forced into their head just as the speech of the Iterators. It is a foreign voice, one that they briefly struggle to understand. "Higher beings, these words are for you alone. Our pure Vessel has ascended. Beyond lies only the refuse and regret of its creation. We shall enter that place no longer."

An ear twitched as the scavenger rested a hand against their shoulder. The Survivor's eyes stare into an empty face, an empty mask. Slowly the scavenger's head turned towards the tablet, and fidgeted with the edge of their cloak. The slugcat does not understand, and they hope that such is evident as they give a small tip of their head to the side.

"Ghost!" The Mark flickered over their head, and the Survivor jolted. Along the tunnel is a flicker of red light, and down descends a vulture- no, not a vulture. Too small to be a vulture, but colored just as red as a noodlefly. The wings were unlike that of noodlefly or vulture, or any creature they understood. "You've got to stop running off like... who's this?" 

Red eyes fall on to the Survivor. Their own eyes stare back with their other ear twitching. The hands that fumbled with a cloak were now making intricate movements. Far too nimble to be the generic waving of gesturing the slugcat through a toll. Were there meaning in those movements? If there were to be words, the Mark of Communication was not gathering it.

The odd creature that was not scavenger or noodlefly or lizard or vulture grumbled briefly shuffled, and wings folded away into a cloak similar to that of the scavenger. They must be related, then. Not once had the Survivor heard a scavenger speak, other than their chuffs and grunts that the Mark of Communication also did not pick up. Perhaps this creature before them was somehow related to the Iterators, then. "Came from the void sea? They sure don't look void touched like you or the other vessels. If anything they kinda remind me of, of, Pale Bitch Worm Man."

A hand of the scavenger instinctively raised, as if withholding something. The slugcat did not understand that motion either; the bobbing of the head reminded them of how they would shake in order to spit up items. Were they trying to spit something up and failing due to not possessing a mouth? "They even have a bit of glow to them, to. Hm. Are you getting any of this?"

The Survivor shuffled briefly, their body moving their center of gravity from one side to another. A notion of understanding was seemingly being demanded, just as Five Pebbles had asked of them when the Mark of Communication had initially been given to them. A nod, the movement of their head up and down, and it seemed to satisfy the odder of two scavengers. "Okay. Great. That's.. great. Good to know." They paused to look at the first of the scavengers that the slugcat had met. "Up to the City? Yea, that'd be a good bet. Not too sure what to do with them afterwards."

With now two guides leading them, the Survivor feels... not safety. It is something bubbling within them, like they had whenever they spoke with the Iterators (not spoke, for the Survivor had no words of their own to give.) Companionship. It was nice to not be alone, especially when the descent through machinery into the depths had been anything but a pleasant experience. Clambering up, leaping across gaps, enjoying having a solidified guide. Not to disgrace the Overseers or anything, but their flickering images tended to confuse more than help.

"Here we are, in the City of Tears," the taller scavenger said as they emerged from a battered and sharply upward tunnel. It had been filled with spikes, and it had earned the Survivor a curious glance when they contorted their body to weave through the jagged items instead of being injured from the fall. The Survivor's ears perk as they move to stand next to the two stationary scavengers.

And there was rain.


	3. Chapter 3

_Lightning strikes and their grasp of their mother's tail grows weaker. The relentless rain above pours heavily down, and the sleek fur that helps a slugcat swim swiftly through water is now hindering a youth as they hold on for dear life. Water sheds off their parent's more pristine pelt, dribbling down the tail and between their fingers. The tail becomes more slick, harder to hold on to. The water rages below, hungry to claim whatever lives did not make it to safety in time._

_The Survivor's name came from many places. Surviving a cycle of rain which was already quite the hefty achievement. Surviving cycle after cycle at nigh the bottom of the food chain was another admirable feat. Their title was well earned; for in the slugcat family a name was typically earned by a feat of equal grandeur. Slaying a red lizard bestowed the name of the Fighter to their father, and the Trader was given to their mother for creating pleasant relations with a nearby clan of scavengers._

_Still, the name was not given to them by normal means. Would that make the Survivor more of an outcast than those who purposefully left the slugcat's territorial domain in a crazed haze? (Were they really crazed, or had they too followed the directions of an Overseer in the hopes of an eternal escape?) Their sibling had gained their name so swift, titled the Monk for how easily the world seemed to treat them._

_The rain gave them the opportunity as much as it was their enemy, and who would they be to turn down any form of an opportunity._

How the two scavengers are so calm at the sight of rain leaves the Survivor baffled. Every instinct and fiber in their brain began to scream in unison to find shelter, safety. Water splashes against stone and pelts them gently; so gentle, and so that means that the cycle's end had surely only begun to approach recently. There was still time to hide, to find safety.

What is before them reminds them, somewhat, of smaller centipedes. They are not yellow, nor red (and they were not sure who to thank for having decent luck for once), but instead a pale blue-grey. The Survivor's feet began to carry them forward, striding further out into the rain. There are no weapons, no electrifying antennae to be worried about. They leap, landing on the head of one, beginning to jump and grab over the moderate crowd.

It reminded the Survivor of how they would pass through a toll set up by scavengers. Sometimes they wouldn't have a pearl at the time of needing to get through, and so they would have to walk backwards until they found a pearl to trade. Once they had tried to trade spears until they had gotten through, and had quickly learned that weaponry was not a trade equal to that of being allowed to pass through. If there were no pearls, then the Survivor would scramble once rain began to fall to pass through.

Shouting came quick from the bugs that they leaped on top of, and the thin crowd dispersed quickly. Shelter, they could not see a marking of shelter in the nearby area.

A call from that red and black scavenger that had been leading them previously. The Survivor does not care to listen, but the Mark of Communication taking the words and shoving them into their brain was not something that they were allowed control over. "What, is this rush hour or something? Did they leave the oven on?"

Foreign as the terminology is, there is no sense of urgency in the translated words. Confusing it is, but the Survivor will not allow a flicker of confusion to cause them to lose a level of their hard-earned karma to the rain. Water when it came from above (or when it was swam through and when it was filled with leeches) was always a threat. It separated them from family, siblings, mother, father, and friends. It cared not who it fell on; rain could not care at all.

There are no narrow holes for the slugcat to worm their way through. Poles are present, and their fingers wrap around them as tightly as they can manage. The rain makes the metal slick, and the rain makes their sleek fur heavier. Weighing them down, demanding for the Survivor to once again fall into the raging water below. They dare not to glance down, instead focusing their gaze upwards.

Cracks line the ceiling, where the water is flowing. There are buildings that, for once, are of a considerable size to the slugcat; if not just barely too small. The pole lead to a platform, and they slide across the slick metal and roll into a pounce. They push onward, determined not to lose a single ounce of karma to this cycle.

The ascension most certainly had to fail, the Survivor allowed themself to muse. If they were still facing the rain, if they still were needing to eat, if they still had to struggle to survive, then it had failed, just as they had been told was possible. The Echos that they had visited were the results of a failed ascension, but the Survivor easily could tell that they had not become a faded string of reality. 

The flap of wings sound behind them, which the Survivor can only attribute to sounding similar to that of a batfly. An ear twitched, but they had no time to waste. The rain, while not growing more severe, was still a threat.

"They're way too quick," the scavenger's voice came again. Still calm, if not tinged with irritation. For what reason it was the Survivor could care less, because before them their eyes had settled on a door. It was the closest thing to shelter that they had seen, and so they would chance it. They rolled along the damp metal, sliding past another odd bug, before slamming their body against the door.

It opened, and the slugcat quickly pushed inside. Breathing hard, water dribbling off their sleek pelt. Both the short scavenger and red and black one had followed them, with the latter closing the door once all three were back inside. "Have you even seen rain before, because that was a pretty decent freak-out episode? Also, Ghost, you've gotta try to learn how to backflip like that. Definitely would help in combat."

The Survivor's eyes flicker between the first scavenger, which they now realize that they tower over. The second scavenger almost meets their eye level - which is odd, because the slugcat most certainly believed that scavengers typically were taller than them even when they were typically hunched over from the weight of their plethora of spears. 

The scavenger apparently called 'Ghost' (which was a weird name in the terms of slugcats, but they could not recall if they had ever learned the name of anyone other than their family, Looks to the Moon, and Five Pebbles) rolls their bony head from side to side. It reminded the Survivor of a movement of disinterest, like how the scavengers would shake their bodies if they did not want what the Survivor had to offer.

A scam, if you asked them, for the scavengers to not accept the frill of a lizard for payment of a toll.

Eyes slipping shut, they acknowledge that their cycle timer is definitely messed up. It must be deep into the cycle's end, then, if they are not able to tell how long they had until the more intense rains began to fall. Their chest heaved, and out came some water they had inhaled during their sprint. This hibernation spot, this zone of safety, was far larger than the ones that they were used to. Furnished with objects, reminding them of the shelters within Five Pebble's memory arrays.

Slowly they allow their body to sink against the soft floor. The texture causes for their eyes to blink open again, and slowly a paw kneads against the purple texture. Soft, reminding the slugcat of the texture of a vulture. They knew that scavengers prized the mask of a vulture, but the feathers? Perhaps that would be worthy of a trade - they could keep the mask, and the scavengers could take the pelt instead. It would take a while to skin one, the Survivor noted, just as it took a while to finally strike a vulture down.

"That's called a carpet," the reddish scavenger explained as they opened their cloak. It revealed a small, needle like hand, which pointed at the fabric. "I guess they work to sleep on, but they're not as good as a bed." Strange words, they were, and they suppose that their blank stare is more than enough of an answer to silence the scavenger.

The first scavenger, once again, is staring at the Mark of Communication. With a mask similar to that of the scavengers, the lack of eyes make it hard for the Survivor to read what emotion persisted underneath. Was there an emotion at all, beneath that mask? The thought of a scavenger with the mindset like a lizard was odd, but persisted in their head nonetheless. The Ghost scavenger sat down across from the Survivor, with their legs disappearing underneath the cloak.

"You literally don't have to sleep," chattered the taller scavenger, again seeming annoyed. The smaller one ruffles their cloak, as if that would give a thorough answer. The Survivor could understand the movement, vaguely. They would have to adapt to this odd form of communication, as it was not something that they were accustomed to. "I am going to be so bored, Ghost. This literally isn't - oh I see, I get it now." They cut off, red eyes turning to the slugcat.

Their eyes meet for a long moment, but they cannot help exhaustion once again claiming them. Tail curled closer, head settling against the fuzzy carpet, slowly allowing themself to drift off as the rain continued to pour outside. Hopefully this shelter would suffice and keep them safe from the rain. It was far, far too late for them to seek out another shelter, after all.

The dream of a slugcat tended to be nothing spectacular. They dreamed of their lost family, following the overseer, chatting a onesided conversation with Looks to the Moon, and beholding the might of Five Pebbles were all dreams easy to recall. This dream, this was something far, far different. Perhaps they should have expected it, post ascension, but so far anything they had anticipated had wound up being incorrect.

Eyes catching a spear, they quickly slide over and grab the dark metal in their paws. Familiarity is nice, and a small huff helps soothe their nerves. Another cycle survived, and they can feel the karma surge and stop as it already has reached its maximum. Slowly their tail wags, to take in their surroundings. It is all red, and there is fire, and they are incredibly and thoroughly confused.

"Let's see what we got here," they hear the red scavenger say, and they feel as if claws have briefly sunken into the slugcat's mind. The ground opens, shaking, and there is the hiss of a karma gate closing behind them. Water bubbles at their feet, slowly beginning to build and rise upwards. The spear is held tightly, not hindering the slugcat as it began to swim upwards. No roof, which they found odd; as if they were swimming upwards into a sky as red as the face of the most dangerous type of lizard.

The water stalls, eventually, and the slugcat paddled quickly over to a nearby metallic shelf. The land that they surveyed was that of The Underhang, or the Leg; they always got those two regions mixed up, somehow. A Daddy Long Legs hangs from a metal pole far above, there is a red lizard, there is a red centipede, there are the Guardians, and the fear absolutely is nearing a sense of hopelessness.

And just as quickly as the dream became a nightmare, the red scavenger seems to materialize in front of them. "Your nightmares are super weird," they mused, staring up at the vicious and dangerous creatures that snarled and hissed and gurgled above. "I honestly was expecting to see my aunt in here, or maybe something about taxes and geo. Instead you're... okay, what am I even looking at here?!"

A gesture was made to the Daddy Long Legs, which only earned a twitch of the slugcat's ear. It's long, liquidy legs grab and haul it closer, and slowly the Survivor found themself pacing backwards to keep the same distance. If they were grabbed by those glowing blue tendrils, they knew there was no escape. Risking getting close was not worth it in any previous experience that they had witnessed. "Honestly, the only thing that I can actually make sense of is that one over there," they say with a gesture then turning to red centipede.

They'd never successfully hunted either a red centipede or a red lizard. They had seen clans of scavengers be ravaged by lizard assaults, but typically sheer numbers meant that they would prevail and have a decent meal as well. The slugcat could not eat lizards, and so fighting them was mostly done out of a need for self defense. 

"I'm the Grimmchild. I'm basically, like, third in control of the Nightmare Realm," the red scavenger says as if it made any sense to the slugcat, turning back towards the Survivor before continuing. "Didn't have much time before hand, but let me be the second to welcome you to Hallownest!"

Something told the Survivor that this cycle's sleep was bound to be a restless one.


End file.
